


stuck on the puzzle of you

by epeolotry



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Elementary School, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 12:06:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3767527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epeolotry/pseuds/epeolotry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Maybe I like being alone.”</p><p>Claire shakes her head firmly.  “No, no one likes being alone.”</p><p>Matt/Claire; Elementary School AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	stuck on the puzzle of you

**Author's Note:**

> no one asked for this but i needed matt and claire as teeny tiny children, with entangled fingers and missing baby teeth, comparing scraped knees and sharing bagged lunches and falling in baby love without realizing. 
> 
> this might be part of a series...? who knows.

He sits alone on the swings with his ankles crossed, and it’s weird, but it feels like he can _see_ her.

 

She knows he’s blind, from the uncomfortable introduction Mrs. Bryce gave him to their class in the fall, his tiny shoulders giving way under her pudgy hands, slumped wordlessly under the watchful gazes of twenty-five third graders.

She knows from the round carmine, almost black, glasses sliding up and down his nose, from the small, hasty fingers that slide them back up. From the constant tip-tapping of his walking cane that alerts her to his presence before she can even see him.

She knows, but she feels watched, _all_ of her, from ends of her tightly bound pigtails down to the tips of her polished mary janes.

 

The hairs stand up on the back of her neck, but she’s not afraid – just curious. So she walks towards him, the playground mulch crunching loudly under her feet, until there’s only a few paces between them.

 

“Hi. Can I sit here? Next to you, I mean?”

He cocks his head slightly in her direction, but says nothing. 

“I’m Claire.”

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

Her thick brows immediately crease. “How—“

“Did I know it was you? You always breathe through your mouth. Like, really loudly. I can hear it from yards away—“ (Her jaw clamps shut in response, large brown eyes narrowing. He shows no sign of stopping.) “–If you mean how did I know your _name_ , then. You were my partner when we were making get well soon cards for Ms. Olsen.”

 

He paused thoughtfully.

 

“You cut out the flowers I colored and glued them on for me.”

  

She kicks at the ground with her foot. “I didn’t think you would remember that. It was months ago.”

 

“Well, I did.”

 

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

 

“Yeah, I’ve been told.”

  

The silence between them lengthens until Claire lets out a loud huff, her hands on her hips. Impatiently, almost angrily, she asks him, “Well, _can I sit with you_?”

She half mutters as an afterthought, “Not sure if I want to, now…”

 

In response, he offers a toothy grin, waving towards the empty seat. “Go ahead.”

 

She wordlessly walks over, sitting down. After a moment of deliberation, she pulls her seat towards him, her knobbly knees and feet working together against the tug of the swing’s tethered chains.

 

“Where’s your buddy? I always see you guys sitting out in the back during recess, digging under the dirt with sticks.”

 

Still looking ahead, he smirks mischievously, a raised brow peeking over the rim of his glasses. “Have you been spying on me?”

She splutters incoherently, her cheeks turning three different shades of red, and even though she _knows_ _for a fact_ that he’s blind, he grins so wide it’s like he can see the full breadth of her embarrassment.

 

“No! It was both of you! I mean, I wasn’t _spying_ , I just saw you!”

 

“…”

 

“….Shut up!”

 

He furtively snickers to himself before speaking up again.

“Um, Foggy is out sick for the next week. His mom said he has chicken pox or something; I couldn’t even come over after school to play Legos with him.”

 

Claire nods in understanding, dragging her foot under the mulch absently and watching as the damp peat stains her lily-white socks. She didn’t care for them anyway.

She waits a moment before asking, “So that’s why you’re here alone?”

 

 

The smile disappears from his face almost instantly.

 

 

“Maybe I like being alone.”

 

 

“No,” Claire shakes her head firmly, “No one likes being alone."

 

Matt bristles uncomfortably, feeling the heat of her stare and the weight of her pity upon him; he doesn’t want either.

 

 

“Do you not like your pigtails?” he says suddenly, turning towards her.

 

She realizes she’s been pulling at one of them and she turns to look at him incredulously.

 

Claire sighs, her hands dropping to her lap. Unwittingly, she leans against the swing enough that both their shoulders touch briefly, separated by two sets of chains.

 

“My Abuela ties them for me,” she explains, a hint of pride in her voice, “Every morning, after she rubs coconut oil in my hair.” She pulls at one of the bobbles in her hair tie, grimacing. “Sometimes she ties them a little too tight, though.”

 

Matt sniffs the air appreciatively, smiling again, “Yeah, I can smell the coconut oil. It’s nice.”

 

A small smile settles on her lips and bashfully, she looks away.

 

“Thanks.”

 

When Claire looks back again, he’s reaching out a hand tentatively. She gently grasps it, guiding it to one of her pigtails. Very carefully, he combs his fingers through it, before holding the bottom loosely in his palm. Finally, he retracts his hand, smiling.

 

“It’s very pretty.”

 

Her cheeks palpably redden and Claire snorts, self-conscious.

 

“Yeah, well. I can do them for you too, if you grow your hair out a bit more.”

 

He opens his mouth to reply but he’s interrupted by the sharp ring of the school bell and the stampede of children running back in.

 

Standing up, he grins. “I’ll hold you to that.”

 

 

As he walks back towards the school, she rises, running to walk beside him. For a blind kid, he walks _fast_.

 

Claire pokes him gingerly on the shoulder.

 

“So, same time tomorrow?” she says breathlessly, her pigtails bouncing behind her.

 

He turns towards her once again, and his surprise slowly turns into ill-concealed mirth, offering her the same toothy smile.

 

 

“Yeah. Same time tomorrow.”


End file.
